


Thursday Night Game NightTM with the Boys

by Alpacalama



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dirty Jokes, Drinking, Found Family, Idiots in Love, Jenga, M/M, Showing Off, Worldbuilding, basically theyre all just fucking around and having a good time, inappropriate thoughts, making fun of optimus, not set anywhere specific in the timeline, theres a beer bottle tower that isnt important to the plot but its there, they're all idiots but i love them, this is just 2100 words of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26981755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alpacalama/pseuds/Alpacalama
Summary: Crankcase put his can of engex down on the stained and dented table, “Ok, do me!”Misfire gave Crankcase what he probably thought was a flirtatious look, “Why Crankcase, I’ll have you know I’m in a committed relationship to one very young and flexible-” Fulcrum slapped a hand over Misfire’s mouth, cheeks pink.“Just do it, you goon!”Misfire laughed when Fulcrum took his hand away, and took a drink from his can. Smacking his lips in the way he knew annoyed Krok, he squinted at Crankcase.“Ok, I’m getting…” He squinted further. “#3d7… 0… fe... #3d70fe! Ten shanix I’m right.” He threw a credit chip onto the table. It almost bumped into the tower of cans they’d erected. There was a moment where they all tensed and reached out to catch the tower, but the chip innocently rolled to a stop away from it.
Relationships: Fulcrum/Misfire (Transformers)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	Thursday Night Game NightTM with the Boys

Crankcase put his can of engex down on the stained and dented table, “Ok, do me!” 

Misfire gave Crankcase what he probably thought was a flirtatious look, “ _Why Crankcase_ , I’ll have you know I’m in a committed relationship to one very young and flexible-” Fulcrum slapped a hand over Misfire’s mouth, cheeks pink. 

“Just do it, you goon!” 

Misfire laughed when Fulcrum took his hand away, and took a drink from his can. Smacking his lips in the way he knew annoyed Krok, he squinted at Crankcase.

“Ok, I’m getting…” He squinted further. “#3d7… 0… fe... #3d70fe! Ten shanix I’m right.” He threw a credit chip onto the table. It almost bumped into the tower of cans they’d erected. There was a moment where they all tensed and reached out to catch the tower, but the chip innocently rolled to a stop away from it. 

Crankcase raised an arm and looked at it, his field disbelieving, “No way, the paint said that it was ‘Sapphire Blue’. That’s cerulean at best.” 

Krok let out a quiet laugh and looked at Spinister, who was excitedly holding his scanner, “Well let’s see then.” He lazily gestured with his hand towards the scanner. 

Spinister wasted no time in raising the scanner and pointing it at Crankcase. Like all other hand held items, he held it like a gun- that is to say, with an intimidating intensity and a pinky finger stuck up in the air. 

The intimidation was lost on the rest of the group as the scanner swayed and wobbled as the rotary mech tried to keep it balanced in his inebriated state.

Misfire waggled his brow-plates at Crankcase, “ _Ceroolean_ isn’t even a real thing.”

Crankcase opened his mouth to retort with something rude when the scanner beeped. They all stopped to look at Spinister, who’d brought the screen close to his face. 

They waited for the results, but after a few moments of silence, Spinister spoke up confusedly, “I can’t read this. Did someone change the language settings?” 

Fulcrum frowned and reached over the table (carefully avoiding the tower) to grab the scanner. It took a few gentle tugs, but Spinister released it eventually. The moment Fulcrum had it in his hand he laughed.

“Oh, you were holding it upside-down.” He set it right-side up and handed it back to Spinister, who glared at it like it was to blame. He brought it back up close to his face, before his field turned impressed. 

“‘#3d70fe’, you were right.” 

Misfire pumped a fist, “Yes! Misfire wins again!” He excitedly turned towards Fulcrum who sat next to him, and the K-Classer indulgently gave him a kiss. 

Crankcase scowled, “No way. S’gotta be bugged!” He grabbed for the scanner.

Spinister held it up threateningly like he was going to use it as a blunt force object, “ _You’re bugged!_ ” His rotor clacked against his back plating. 

Krok, unimpressed, plucked the scanner out of Spinister’s hand from the other side of him. He held his engex in his other hand as he looked at the screen. After a moment, he slid it towards Crankcase.

“It’s right. Misfire was spot on again.”

Crankcase grabbed it and grumbled as he tapped away on the screen, pulling up the most recent scans that showed the exact hex code of each Scav’s paint, “That isn’t fair. You’re cheating somehow.”

Misfire grinned, “Nah baby, I’m just that good.” 

Fulcrum rolled his optics, “Ok, that’s enough of that. Krok? It’s your turn.” He slung an arm around the back of his chair and leaned back. 

Krok, who was happy to watch the others tease each other, straightened up and rubbed his hands together. 

“I bet he’s secretly a triple-changer.” The others all turned to look at Spinister, who looked back, “What?”

Krok huffed amusedly, “Never mind.” He got up and stretched, the others appreciated the view. After he was done, he started to make his way around Spinister to Crankcase, who immediately started to protest.

“No! Get away! Don’t you dare, Krok!” Before he could get out of his seat, Krok was behind him with a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back down.

Crankcase scowled, “This is the worst. This is a clear abuse of leadership. The moment we hit Cybertron I’m getting a restraining order.”

Krok laughed, “Shut up, Crankcase.” He shook a hand, pulled it back and curled it into a fist, before bringing it down on a spot of Crankcase’s back plating.

Crankcase only had a moment to yell out before his guns involuntarily went off and shot into the ceiling. The others yelled out and whooped as they all ducked to avoid dust. 

Krok patted Crankcase on the back before going back to his seat and easily hooking up his fluid intake to his engex. 

Misfire laughed, brushing dust off of his shoulder kibble, “That’s scary, Krok. I don’t know how you do it.” 

The mech in question shrugged, field coy and amused. Next to him, Spinister turned to look at Misfire, “I don’t know how he does it either! I should know because _I_ know what everyone’s insides look like!”

Krok gave Misfire an imitation of a mysterious and brooding expression, “That’s my secret, Misfire. I’d have to kill you if you knew.” 

Fulcrum snorted into his drink. 

“Yeah, whatever Krok. We all know you’re a softy. I grow on you.” Misfire grinned.

“Yeah, like a bad infection.” Krok shot back. 

Misfire mock gasped and threw him an offended look. Across from him, Spinister tapped his hands on the table in an alternating rhythm.

“My turn now!” 

They focused on him, but before he could show them whatever he planned to do, Misfire spoke up.

“Wait! Do the impression first. I laugh every time.” He gnawed on the corner of his empty engex can, absentmindedly grabbing another from the crate under the table. 

Spinister blinked, “Oh, ok. Sure.” He cleared his intake, straightening up and assuming what the others like to call his ‘Mocktimus Prime Time’ stance. 

“ _Autobots-_ ” He cleared his intake again. “Autobots, we gather here today to continue the righteous fight against the evil Decepticons. For millennia, we lived in harmony and peace. It pains me to say this, but many of you are too young to remember a time before the war that ravaged our planet and covered it in death. 

Now, we continue to battle against those who would steal our right as free beings! An entire army of the oppressed and abused wanting to enslave others? More likely than you think.”

Misfire, in between fits of laughter, waved a hand, “Spin you’re breaking character!”

“Oh, sorry. Ok, um… Right, we need to… We need to take back what is ours, and never let go of what we have! Courage, community, the bonds between us, knowledge! Without this, Cybertron will truly be lost. 

We have found a planet… It’s called ‘Earth’ by its inhabitants. They are… very tiny and squishy, but we see something in them! Like… Um, their similar penchant for incredible violence!

We leave for their solar system as soon as possible. Now everyone line up for hugs and kisses.”

Spinister ended his impression with obnoxious kissing noises, which were barely heard over the laughter of the others. Misfire was slamming a hand on his knee, shrieking with laughter. 

The others weren’t far off. Crankcase had his helm in his hands and his shoulders shook and Krok was giving hearty full-frame laughs.

Fulcrum was wiping coolant from his optics while laughing, and when no one was paying attention, he slid the credit chip Misfire threw down earlier into his subspace. 

Spinister slapped his hands on the table, loudly exclaiming it was his turn to go. Everyone jolted forwards as the tower wobbled and threatened to fall over. Sheepishly, Spinister slid his hands under the table onto his thigh plates when he got dirty looks from the others. 

“Ok, I need to concentrate for this.” Everyone watched in rapt attention as the rotary mech straightened slightly and his optics lost their focus. His rotors wobbled as he held himself still.

Misfire leaned over to Fulcrum and loudly whispered, “What is he doing?” He was shushed and a hand on his jaw turned his helm back towards Spinister. 

Slowly, looking like it took great effort, one of Spinister’s optics turned to look at Crankcase to his left, while the other stayed looking forwards. 

The moment the others started laughing and whooping, his optic realigned itself. Spinister blinked a few times, his rotors giving a few pleased spins.

“Pretty cool, right?” 

Misfire leaned forwards, wings held high and wide, “Are you kidding? That was the _coolest!_ Can you do it with the other one?” His own optics were wide and bright. 

Slowly, Spinister’s other optic turned to look at Krok on his right. The others lost it with laughter and cheers. Well, minus Crankcase, who offered an amused smirk. 

Misfire took another drink from his engex, closing his optics and letting out a pleased sigh. The other’s fields lapped against his like a warm blanket on his wings. Next to him, Fulcrum’s field was relaxed and happy.

Being so close to one another, his field was interwoven with Misfire’s, and they playfully tangled together, sending little zaps and zings down the jet’s sensor net. 

The WAP wasn’t a five star establishment, but the un-official rec room had been thrown together to create something they could all appreciate. What they assumed used to be an officers lounge had been turned into a scene that’d be more likely found on the lower levels of a space station. 

There was a raised section towards the back of the room, and they’d pushed some couches and chairs together to create a cozy seating area. The couches formed a wall facing the rest of the room. 

Across from that, they’d torn out the wall of lockers to install a makeshift bar. It was Fulcrum’s second favourite place to be, the first being his own hab suite. If you couldn’t find him in his room, he was most likely behind the bar, polishing what glasses they had and organizing their engex alphabetically. 

LEDs of all kinds were hung on the walls. They’d all been stolen by the crew, mainly Misfire, for one or another reason. Misfire’s favourite by far was the LED depicting an alien species posed in an erotic stance while a flashing arrow promised a show.

Fulcrum, predictably, hated it.

Misfire compromised by placing it above the make-shift bar where it was easily out of Fulcrum’s line of sight. 

Along with the flashing lights and LED’s, the walls also held few posters. One, a salvaged propaganda poster depicting the DJD, was placed in a spot of honor above the door. On it was scrawled ‘FRAG TARN’ in bright Autobot red. 

A screen that had originally been used to monitor the prisoner cells had been attacked by Fulcrum and re-purposed to broadcast holoNet signals. Most of the time, it was set to _My Abominable Aliens_ , a show about six aliens who solve problems in their small town of Equester and deal with friendship. Grogarth, the fast and spunky alien, was Misfire’s favourite. 

The others wouldn’t admit it, but they were just as much invested in the show as Misfire was. 

Misfire took another drink, and next to him, Fulcrum was laughing. Misfire had no clue what they were talking about, he was just happy to take in the view. 

The various lights and LEDs cast a variety of highlights across his frame. He looked like he was in his element, optics bright and golden as he smiled and chatted with the others. 

Misfire’s optics tracked Fulcrum’s can of engex as he brought it to his lips and took a sip. He swallowed, throat feeling dry suddenly as Fulcrum’s neck cables flexed. A drop of engex was on Fulcrum’s lips, which was quickly licked away. 

Misfire was sure he was about to either do something inappropriate or pass out from lack of coolant to his cortex. 

He was brought out of his line of thought when Fulcrum suddenly leant over and reached under the table. His shoulder bumped into the edge of it, and Misfire heard Krok yell out about the tower. 

Thankfully, it still held. It shook slightly when Fulcrum straightened up and set down a box. 

The K-Classer shot them all a grin, back plates wiggling in excitement.

“Do any of you know what JENGA is?”


End file.
